






BOOKS IN PREPARATION 
by HARRIET BEECHER BENBOW 


“The Greater Light" 
“Letters from Mother to Son" 
“Letters from Son to Mother" 
“The Real Creation" 

AND OTHERS 


Harriet Beecher Benbow’s Books 
will give the scholar of good thoughts 
many delightful and inspired 
moments. 



THOSE EYES LOOKED LIKE VIOLETS 





"MY LITTLE 

3RBUTU5 FLOWER.' 


A TALE 

e 

GREAT PINE-TREE REQQNS 


By 

HARRIET BEECHER BENBOW 

Ii 

ICCustr' orted by 

BETH RO^ENKRAN5 

AND 

MILDRED LYON 


> 

1 > 


“JUST RIGHT BGDKS” 

ALBERT WHITMAN COMPANY 

CHIC A GrO ILLINOIS. 


MY LITTLE ARBUTUS FLOWER 


Copyright, 1921 

HARRIET BEECHER BENBOW 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 


When Bernice Sought Her 


Proper Niche 


Finding the Bud 

Page 13 

Even So Did I 

Page 20 

The Blossom Expands. . . 

Page 37 

In Full Bloom 


When Bernice Found 

Her 

Proper Niche 





J 


i i 1 
U L 



©1A624050 


I 


DEDICATED TO 


My dearly beloved friend Marian Law Neff, whose 
friendship was a divine gift in the darkest hour of 
my life, and whose exalted character and sympathy 
was quick to grasp the author’s meaning and help 
to bring this little story before the public. 

To her these pages are inscribed 
With the unforgetable love of 

HARRIET BEECHER BENBOW. 


“FOREWORD” 

Precious gems found in the deserts of 
darkness shall we not inscribe them? 

To find a lost diamond we must needs take 
with nSj a lamp, 

— Harriet Beecher Benhow, 


WHEN BERNICE SOUGHT HER 
PROPER NICHE 


“JMother, dear, I know not what to do 
next; I have tried so many things, but they 
all take me away from you all day, leaving 
me no time for helping you with the house- 
work, not to speak of keeping my own gar- 
ments mended, — and not a minute do I 
have to read or practice my music which 
father spent so much to give me. Life 
seems so weary and unromantic, and while 
my heart is sad all day at having to leave 
you all alone, — I feel that I, too, am losing 
all the beauty and poetry of life, as well 
as meeting all day the bold faces of men, 
which a business girl’s work necessitates. 

I am getting discouraged with living” 

“Yes, daughter, I know all you say is 
true; I, too, have grieved much to see you 

growing less beautiful, less like your natu- 

7 


My Little Arbutus Flower 

ral self, — having to go day after day out 
ill the dirt and rain, cold and heat; being 
so weary at night, with all the delightful 
hours, of music and reading, gone.’’ 

“Do you think, mother, that I could 
write a good story ? The world loves good 
stories; you know we do, and just now our 
magazine is offering a sjilendid price for 
short stories. Do you think I might just 
try evenings, and then, if I succeeded, we 
could be together? I feel just full of 
beautiful things, and so love to express 
them, and, too, I know so many wonderful 
stories from real life which I could build 
around, and they are so really interest- 
ing, — if I only thought I could please!” 
Sucli was the conversation passing 
between Mrs. Blair and her daughter, 
Bernice, as they sat before a small gas 
grate, in their four-room, modern hunga- 

8 


When Bernice Sought Her Proper Niche 


low. There was no other light, and the 
hour was aj^proaching for them to retire 
for the night. 

jMrs. Blair was one of those petite types 
of gracious womanhood. Her eyes were 
large and dark ; her hair was parted 
smoothly, combed back and coiled on her 
neck. Tonight she was dressed in a royal 
purple velvet dressing gown, which fell 
in soft folds, while the dainty slipper of 
the same material peeped out from be- 
neath, showing a small, classical foot. One 
hand fondly clasped that of her daughter, 
whose head of silken, blonde hair rested 
gently on the mother’s shoulder. Bernice’s 
gown of old-rose satin, as well as that of 
her mother, showed much wear, — but spoke 
of better days. It was a picture for an 
artist. 

“Bernice, you have written some splen- 
ic 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


did, rarely j)leasing things ! Where is that 
tale of the ^V^est, your ‘Little Arbutus 
Flower,’ disclosing one of your life’s expe- 
riences, which 3^011 just jotted down, 
[>ecause it came so persistent!}^ into }'our 
mind as not to be put off?” 

“Wh}% mother, I never thought of that. 
I have it put away with a number of otlier 
stories. You remember father thought 
that ought to be published, — ‘it was so full 
of good,’ he said, — and as he wrote so 
many, many things, he ought to be a good 
judge, hadn’t he? Oh, if this would oif 3^ 
bring me a i:)rize, so I could stay at home, 
I would bring out some real stories for 
the world, mother, for I do so want to 
write. I’ll go and bring it, if you will 
wait up for an hour longer, mother, — }mu 
can rest tomorrow while I am gone.” 

“No, it’s }"ou, Bernice, you must have 
vour rest.” 

“Oh, no, mother, the thought, even, that 
perhaps I might earn enough to enable me 

10 


When Bernice Sought Her Proper Niche 


to live at liome with you, rests me more 
than that hour of sleep possibly could. I’ll 
bring it in just a minute.” 

* * * 

“Here it is, mother. Listen, and please 
criticise. I’ll just underscore your criti- 
cisms with this red pencil, and will try to 
liurry home tomorrow to prepare it for 
mailing. These editors must be kind- 
hearted men, to even give humanity a 
chance to express themselves naturally. 
I love natural rhyme in stories, always, 
and I believe most people do, for everyone 
has more or less poetry in his nature, and 
they need more of it, don’t they, mother?” 

“Yes, dear, but now proceed; it is get- 
ting to be near ten o’clock.” 

“Yes, mother,” and folding her arms 
about Mrs. Blair’s neck, Bernice gave her 
one long, tender kiss, and settled herself 
by her mother’s side, to read her story, 
“My Arbutus Flower.” 

(Bernice reads her story.) 

n 


WHAT A HOUSE? 





FINDING THE BUD 

The slums? did you say? Yes, I had 
visited the slums, that is, I had driven 
adown the streets of the slums in large 
cities; had read of them, — of the poor suf- 
fering lives therein ; of the good Samaritan 
at work for their salvation, — often wishing 
I might be of help to some of those poor 
people, — yet did not expect that the call 
and the opportunity would come to me as 
they did, and when and where they did ! 

One day in a small mining town, ‘‘some- 
where in America,'’ where you would never 
suspect a spot could get shady enough for 
a small slum, I found there was one ; a wee, 
small one, — looking as though it might 
have been lifted in a cyclone, some bleak, 
stormy day, and had been set over in these 
hills, far from its native land. Anyway, 
the slum was there, and blacker than night 
was its color, too. 


7 .? 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


1 was asked one day to go and see a 
j3oor lady; that she needed help so very 
hadly, and my heart bounded with joy, so 
to do. Having been advised that she made 
beautiful embroidery, I had a suitable ex- 
cuse for going, so one forenoon, quite soon 
after the request came, I started to the far 
east outskirt of the city to find this place. 

A peculiar walk it was, — away down a 
winding street, over bridges, and ]>ast 
blacksmith shops, where the noise of the 
anvil would ring in your ears for blocks 
and blocks. (These were the shops for the 
mines, not far off.) As you passed, black- 
faced men would glance out at you, 
with their white eyes, mouths wide-open, 
Avondering, no doubt, what a lady could 
he doing down that street, — but on I went; 
too much inspired by my errand to mind 

all this; — on, on, over railroad tracks and 

14 


Finding the Bud 


street car tracks, part of the way boards 
for sidewalks, laid lengthwise (just wide 
enough for two, provided the two were 
one), part of the way cinders, the remain- 
ing portion sand, deep and many colored. 
There were steps up and steps down, while 
two streams of muddy water, coming from 
o])posite directions, one red, quite red, the 
other black, joined hands just above the 
bridge I was crossing, making a very curi- 
ous sight, as though they had decided to 
run under it together; no doubt to gener- 
ously save the city the trouble of building 
two bridges. 

This bridge, like many people in this 
world, was destined to bear many burdens, 
as steam cars, street cars, and footmen all 
crossed it, — yes, and even men without 
feet, for I saw one there, on crutches, who 
had no feet of his own, but some wooden 

15 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


things some carpenter had made him. 
Surely I had gone far enough, I thought, 
and began to look around. 

Across tlie road, in a sand pile, were 
some dirty children at play. I crossed, 
asked for tlie place I was seeking, and 
tliey pointed out, not far away, a dingy, 
little, forsaken-looking black, — what? A 
house? No! I’ll let you name it. It was 
just under the sheltering wing of an army 
of mine buildings, where they were blast- 
ing rock in order to get at the precious 
metal. All the buildings around had been 
])attered with these great pieces of rock, 
and this one, which I was about to enter, 
had not fully escaped. A window in the 
end of this place next to me had an old, 5^el- 
low newspaper (torn, too) for a curtain. 
It seemed to me strange, that they could 
not have had a clean one. 


16 


Fmding the Bud 


I had to go down several steps from the 
road, to reach the door, which was on the 
side of the house. The 023 posite end of tlie 
house, if such is the name for those black 
hoards, was set 112^)011 a scantling, to kee 2 :> 
it from associating with a ditch near-by. 
I ra 2 ) 2 ^c^^ — I ha2)2^ened to have on gloves 
which were somewhat soiled, and I was 
not sorry. We are sometimes led by a 
kind 2^rovidence to do the very right thing 
at the right time. This was evidently one 
of those times. 

The door was opened, Ohj what a sight! 
What shall I say to you? How shall I 
write it? 

Ho you suppose the half coidd he told? 
Oh, the black darkness, the filth and the 
wretchedness; 

The odor, the dampness, the grime and the 
mould. 


17 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


In one corner stood, — what do you sup- 
pose? A piano! 

“Oh consistency, thou art a jewel!” and 
i\Irs. Inconsistency, what art thou? Surely 
it came from Noah’s Ark, — though they 
say Noah did not know enough to have 
a piano. Well, if this woman had known 
enough to have had the Ark, instead of 
the piano, I need not have written this 
story. Such a sight! 

The piano was piled three feet high with 
old, soiled clothing, — old rags and scraps 
of every kind, including music, — this kind 
with the glaring frontispiece — novels, old 
and yellow, yet retaining their extravagant 
pictures, and of the ten-cent order. 

A bed was the nearest neighbor. “A 
bed,” did I say? A pile of filthy rags, 
besmeared with black coal-dust (and it 

might have been a mattress) adorned 

IS 


Finding the Bud 


another piece of Noah’s furniture. JVIy 
eyes did not dwell upon this scene, so can- 
not tell you more. ^Vhere did they linger 
in this most dismal of all dismal apart- 
ments? Upon the face and hands of the 
woman who bade me enter. “Were they 
clean,” do you say? “Clean?” Yes; and 
pink and white, like a sea shell. “Was she 
intelligent?” again I hear you ask, — even 
so! I imagine now you are wondering! 


19 


EVEN SO DID I 


I ivondercd and wondered, and finally 
thought , — 

I never did read it, nor e'er heard it taught. 

That such a bright blossom coidd grow in 
the dark. 

Where the su n eould not reach it; nor spar- 
row nor lark 

Could glance down from their place in 
the tree; 

And I thought it was queer; just as queer 
as could be! 

A nd ne'er had I heard one could speak their 
mind 


20 


Even So Did I 


To a blossom in such a dense wood, hut 
I fi nd 

My mind I did speak, — I would do so, too. 

For in order to help her, her story must 
know. 

Just then the door opened and boldly 
walked in 

A IMiss about fourteen, tall, shabby and 
thin; 

''Hungry?'" Yes, starved-looking, weary 
and pale. 

She stood and gazed wildly, I thought, 
"O, how frail!" 


21 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


I non (lev if this a daughter can he? Won- 
ders she why I came? 

tViiat thinks she of me? 

''Dear Grace/' said the mother, "this 
friend came to me. 

To see if your mother would work for her, 
(do fancy-work) ; see?” 

"Now, go and get brother; the wind is so 
cold. 

And close the door after you, dear , — 

Just thirteen years old!" 

I must now put my question, before they 
come in , — 


22 


Even So Did 1 


''A nd have you another?'* What a wonder! 
and then 

The door opened. What a scene met my 
gaze! 

I ne'er can forget it; sure your nerves it 
would craze. 

tVith Jove in her eyes, Grace led hy the 
hand 

yi ragged young urchin, all black and all 
sand. 

He was dressed in a night pants made of 
red calico; 

All dirty and ragged. "No patches?" Oh, 
no! 


o? 


My I At tie Arbutus Flower 


This is one of the secrets Fll reveal hye 
and hye; 

Give me time, though, for I iiiust now 
speak of the sigh 

Which arose on the lips of the child as he 
gazed at me then. 

With his blue eyes so wild it is clear jmst 
my pen! 

Those eyes looked like violets, peeping out 
from the leaves. 

And waiting the garner to gather his 
sheaves. 

The long hair was heavy, and curly, and 
gold. 


24 


Even So Did I 


Rut the dross must he washed away, ere it 
grows cold! 

Could I heljy to do it? "'Oh, God, give me 
power. 

Thy love to speak, here, in this most 
wretched hour!*’ 

Will you pardon me for telluig the story 
in rhyme? 

Fve started out bravely in prose, of ten- 
time. 

But somehow with heart-strings, it does 
not accord; 

And it sounds so unkindly, the plain^ 
homely word. 


25 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


To describe such scenes. Aye, sad scenes 
or glad. 

May best, in the rhythm of spirit be had. 

The mother said: "'Grace, dear, go wash 
him up clean; 

So the lady can see him; so he wont look 
so mean.'' 

Now my question once more, to the mother 
I'd bring: 

"No one will disturb us?" "No, no, not 
a thing." 

"Come, tell me, my dear, what has brought 
you down here? 

I can't understand it!" Now I have 
brought a sad tear , . . 


26 


Even So Did 1 


^^But never mind, dearie, we are sisters of 
God. 

The squalor, the sorrow, the dirt or the sod 

Can*t part God's dear children; just lift 
pour great load, 

God sent me to help yon, and I'll do my 
best. 

If yon will but tell me, just how you came 
W est. 

Your culture I see, and your home is not 
here; 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


Don't sob so; take this, now^ and wipe that 
big tear. 

Let's reason together; see what can be 
done; 

J\lost surely there's comfort! Ohj here 
comes the son!" 

Is my prayer being answered, already? 
Now, see! 

He looks like an angel; so beautiful, he! 

The long, golden tresses had nicely been 
combed; 

The violets, just budded, most surely had 
bloomed; 


28 


Even So Did 1 


And as they grow lighter you know, from 
the sun. 

So these had done also; their depths re- 
vealed fun ; — 

But his whole hearing seemed like the 
Arhutus flower. 

So pink and so white, in its leaf -covered 
bower. 

He came to shake hands with me, and then 
kissed me, too. 

What beautiful hands! What sweet lips 
they were, too. 


29 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


I wanted to fold him my arms quite 
around; 

To take him away with me; hut the heart 
it would wound 

Of the mother, who sat there, with pride in 
here eyes. 

But now I must go, and quickly arise. 

She said: ''Must you go now?"' "I cer- 
tainly must. 

But I will call again, early, next week; let 
us trust/' 

"Oh. thank you," she cried, and / bade her 
adieu. 


30 


Even So Did 1 


The little hoy leanted to go with me, too, 

'\Jiist a little way, darling, now, do not 
go far; 

Don't bother the lady; of yourself take 
good care. 

Don't go near the cars, note, nor near 
naughty hoys; 

Just down to the corner, and list for the 
noise 

Of the blasting- man's whistle, and run for 
the house. 

As soon as you hear it, as fast as a mouse," 

So we walked along slowly, his pink hand 
in mine , — 


31 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


My Arbutus Flower, and his face it did 
shine. 

Not a word did he say, hut the love in his 
eyes. 

Any lover might covet; any lady might 
jmze. 

He would look into mine, from the depths 
of his soul. 

Oh, it thrills my heart yet, and I long for 
the whole 

Of that story so gloomy and dark 

That held in its bosom such a bright, shin- 
ing spark. 

My hand he held closely, he turned not 
to fly; 


32 


Even So Did 1 


He seemed to so linger and stay so close 

hy — 

I asked him a question; he simply said. 

Back there I don t want to go!' 

Keeping hold of m y hand, till my heart was 
like lead. 

1 said: ''Darling, you must go." He hung 
down his head. 

He wished to go with me, my Arbutus 
Flower , — 

But the rain-drops were coming; the clouds 
they did lower. 

Both within and without, it was storming, 
I mean; 


33 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


And here on the corner, in the sand, was 
a scene. 

But I kissed him so fondly and promised 
to come 

To that home again soon, and he ran along 
home, 

I turned not to look, for my heart was so 
sore, 

(Of thy wisdom, our Father, we surely 
need more 

To cope with the sori'ow, oppression, and 
sin. 

And bring the dear children the heaiwn 
gates within! 

O give us this wisdom, and teach us to love; 

And send f orih Thy great light, f rom Thu 
kingdom above! ) 


S4 


Even So Did I 


ril not soon forget that lone walk to my 
home; 

The thunder did roar and the lightning did 
come. 

The day grew so dark, and the night fast 
came on. 

Oh what was my Arbutus Flower lying on? 

Where 'bout was his curly head lying to 
rest? 

What touched his soft cheek, and was he 
caressed? 

Could his slumber be sweet, in that dark, 
wretched jilace? 

Yes, for I am sure heaven had looked on 
that beautiful face! 


35 


My Little Arhutus Flower 


I thought that his prayers he surely had 
saidj 

For the mother had told me to Him she 
had jmayedj — 

But I wanted him nestled all down in a bed. 

In a clean little night-robe, and blankets 
all red. 

For the night %ms so cold, and the little 
heart warm; 

And my Arbutus Flower must be kept 
f rom all harm. 

1 prayed for that home there, and soon fell 
asleep. 

I cannot xvrite more now, or I surely will 
weep. 


36 


THE BLOSSOM EXPANDS 


As the brotherhood of man is becoming 
more universally understood, and as this 
story must needs include a moral, and as 
you have so urgently requested me to pro- 
ceed, I will endeavor to put the sad expe- 
rience into words; but blame me not if the 
heart is caused to quake and tremble, 
neither if the words imperfectly express 
the intended meaning. I shall trust you 
to read between the lines, and if the heart 
is made to ache, or its strings to become 
suddenly all out of tune, may this only 
impel you to at once put them in perfect 
tune again (“In tune with the Infinite”), 
that you may he able to uplift the fallen 
and support the weak. 

I performed my regular studio duties 

very restlessly the next few days, and was 

37 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


glad when, on Tuesday, I could find time 
for the promised call. 

I sent word in the morning that I would 
he there, and at what hour, so that I might 
have an understanding with the mother; 
and that I might speak with her alone 
and discover the mystery surrounding her 
life, in order to help her up out of that 
wretched place, and thereby, too, bring 
my sweet Arbutus Flower out into the sun- 
shine. When two o’clock came, my feet 
hastened down over the bridges, past the 
blear-eyed men in the shops, who looked 
as though they remembered me, and won- 
dered what I might he doing down that 
way again, — but my heart had such a big 
|)ra}^er in it, and such an overwhelming 
sense of that charity that “thinketh no 
evil,” that I could see in them only God’s 
earnest, faithful sons, my brothers; so with 

38 


The Blossom Expands 


a warm, loving thought for them, hoping 
that their homes were cozy and warm, and 
that their labor was repaid at home in the 
right coin, I passed rapidly on. 

Strange-looking men were met, some 
from the mines, and some who looked as 
tlioiigh their thoughts w^ere very sinful, so 
tliat their visages w^ere marked up and 
plainly to be read, gazed at me boldly, — 
but again: “The Kingdom of , God is 

within you,” wwild come to me, and this 
“still, small voice” enabled me to proceed. 
I could not help but “keep an out” for my 
little Arbutus Floww, but saw him not, 
and soon arrived at the little black place. 
A new paper had been pinned up at the 
window, and the window washed. 

I rapped. All w^as still ; very still. What 
could tliis mean? I repeated the rap. No 
sound from witliin, only the noise of the 

39 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


many cars without, and the blast-man’s 
whistle. 

I knew I must soon seek shelter now 
somewhere away from those awful roeks 
(five minutes were always allowed in which 
to give people time to seek shelter). 

I looked along the platform upon which 
I stood, and which was in the direction of 
the deep, dark ditch, or rather ravine, and 
which platform looked positively danger- 
ous, dangling there in air upon its frail 
legs (the scantling), and I saw another 
door. I stepped along to this, with some- 
what of a doubt in my mind as to whether 
or not I might be intruding, — but I was 
determined to ferret out the cause of the 
distress if possible. I rapped ; there was a 
rush to be heard The door was opened 
quickly, and within was a sight to behold. 

“Was it the kitchen?” I hear you ask. 

40 


The Blossom Expands 


Perliaps you might call it that. Here 
were the mother, daughter and son, all 
engaged in making the most of about a 
pint of very dirty water, in a wash basin 
as black as the “ace of spades,’’ cleaning 
the little Arbutus .Flower up, “to see the 
lady.” He had pleaded that this might 
be done, and now the girl would finish get- 
ting the snarls out of his beautiful hair. 
While she combed and pulled, he stood 
like a martyr — not a sound passing his 
lips, and with no look of pain casting a 
shadov/ over his face. He said: 

“The lady will want to see me elean,” 
and he lavished upon me those heart- 
stirring looks from the deep heaven of his 
soul; and occasionally they would scintil- 
late with a ripple of fun that seemed to 
say: 

“I have never had expression; but I see 

41 


My Liitle Arbutus Flower 


in you a chance for escape.” He seemed 
to have a briglit hope that his cage-door 
was going to be opened, and the hope of a 
child is so redolent with strong, uplifting 
faith that shall it not be answered? Oh, 
how sweet he was ! 

Who could help loving such a blossom 
of God ? He had on the same night-pants ; 
just as dirty, — no more so. They could 
not he. “Just as many holes?” Yes. “No 
patches yet?” No. 

“Why?” I wonder. You shall know; 
he patient. 

I wished that the little feet might be 
washed, too, but did not like to ask it. 
I wanted to see them, for there is nothing 
prettier. (I am glad God is the Creator, 
and not man.) 

All done, now, and I shall never forget 

the transformation; neither the look, as 

42 


The Blossom Expands 


lie advanced one step, with such an easy 
grace, and tlie question beaming from his 
eyes: 

“Do you love me now? May I kiss 
you now?” I bade him to come to me, 
and giving me both his little pink hands, 
he j:)ut up his red lips to kiss me. I think 
he would have liked to be taken into my 
arms, but both realized that this could not 
be, and he glanced at the filthy garment, 
and then at his mother, and the look upon 
his face no artist could depict. 

The mother, taking me into the “other 
room,” showed me some of the most beau- 
tiful embroidery I had ever seen; center- 
pieces that were superb; violets, the color 
of Arbutus’ eyes, — carnations like Arbu- 
tus’ cheeks, woven on linen white as his 
lily-like throat. She was evidently a lover 
of the beautiful, and hoxiD could she live in 

43 


Mrj Little Arbutus Flower 


this place? ]Vly (piestion, again. I must 
see her alone, — so after turning over in 
my mind, how this was to be accomplished, 
I asked her if the children might go and 
bring a piece of fancy-work she had been 
telling me of, which she had done for a 
lady not far from there. She was per- 
fectly willing, and they departed. I pro- 
ceeded to bring my question again, now. 

As soon as the door closed upon these 
two, and waiting for no preliminaries, I 
said: “It is not necessary for you to live 
in this way!” 

I had made up my mind that promptness 
contained manv virtues, and I meant to 
proceed at the risk of any and everything, 
nov/, if for no other reason than to open 
the cage-door for my Arbutus Flower. 
He trusted me, too, I knew it; and God, 

mayhap, had made me an instrument to 

44 


The Blossom Expands 


iiccoiiiplish this task; and I meant to ful- 
fill my mission. She hurst into tears. 

“Don’t cry,” I said. “We must talk 
fast; you know the children will soon re- 
turn, and must not hear this conversation. 
You do beautiful, wonderful work! You 
can support these two with your needle. I 
have many friends who would gladly pur- 
cliase your needle-work at good prices. I 
will tell them of you and your work, and 
when you get into respectable quarters, will 
bring them to see you. I will help you, and 
God will surely protect you.” Here she 
sliuddered. I asked, did she belong to any 
cliurch? “Yes,” she replied. 

“Do they not help you?” 

“Yes, they are kind!” 

“Do you not know that God is able to 
lielp you?” 

“Oh, you do not know all; I have two 

45 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


other boys, both working out, at not very 
respeetable work, and what the world 
would eall a husband.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Mercy! You tell me! He has been 
intoxicated for two weeks now, steadily — 
drunk more than sober.” 

“Does lie not provide?” She shook her 
head and the tears chased each other doAvn 
her clieeks. 

“How long has tliis been going on?” 
“Always, from tlie very first.” 

“Did you not know that he drank when 
you married him?” 

“I knew that lie drank, a little, but I — 
I — I — tliou — I tliouglit he would stop 
after we were married, hut tlic habit has 
grown worse and worse,” and she solibed 
bitterly. 


46 


IN FULL BLOOM 

I tried to lead her to tell me the cause 
of her marriage to such a person, and being 
brought to such a condition, but she put 
up the self reserve firmly, each time. She 
said that she had prayed and prayed for 
all these years tliat release might come, 
and she believed that it would yet come. 
I saw that something was being hidden 
from me and that all I could do was to 
pray and trust in tlie prayer, too. She told 
me how thankful she was to me — and then 
the children came. My departure was 
taken then, being an exact counterpart of 
tlie first, and I promised to come again, 
as she Iiad agreed to do some fancy-work 
for me, and in tlie meantime she was to 
trv and know tliat tlie time had come for 
the answer to her many prayers. 


47 


My L it tie Arbutus Flower 


‘'It lays like lead in my bosom — this sad 
experience of mine — 

And I longed for wisdom from heaven as 
the branches long for the vine'* 


48 


In Full Bloom 


Not a day and scarcely an hour passed, 
I think I can safely say, that I did not 
think of that night of life — ^of that des- 
olate home. Desolate of what? What 
makes desolation all the night of life 
there is? All the discord? All the suffer- 
ing? Lack of love — nothing more! True 
love, the love that the Lord teaches, pure 
and true! 

One day wliile at work in my studio the 
little JNIiss of thirteen rapped at my door. 
She had come out of the gloom to ask me 
to come to her Mama, if I would — her 
INfama wanted me “so awful bad.” I told 
lier I would come “Was any one sick?” 
“Papa has been sick and so have I.” 

“Is little brother well?” 

“Oh, yes ; he is never sick.” I knew why 
the little Arbutus Flower was never sick — 

the light in liis eyes had revealed that to 

49 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


me — At-one with God — his life, filled with 
love. 

I went, that afternoon, adown the old, 
long, winding way again. I hoped to find 
the father. When I arrived, however, he 
had gone up town. 

She took me into the kitchen, as the 
daughter was in “the other room.” My 
Arbutus Flower was not there. I did not 
see him that day. She said : 

“I have been so ill all day I thought I 
would die.” I must open my heart to you 
or I cannot live. I cannot stand this; oh, 
I cannot ! You must never, never tell what 
I tell you, or it costs me my life, and yours 
too — but I believe you can and will help 
me.” 

I bade her proceed and to he assured 
that I would not speak it aloud and would 

try to help her. The tale of woe she poured 

50 


In Full Bloom 


forth is too horrible to relate in full — heart- 
rending — repelling. Worse than beastly 
had this man, or, rather, brute, been to 
that beautiful woman! 

In the first place, when a girl, in a far 
eastern city, where she was surrounded 
with every luxury, in a beautiful home, 
the only daughter of fond parents, he had 
stolen her and carried her thousands of 
miles away, forever telling her that she 
was watched all the time, night and day; 
that he paid men to do this, and if she dare 
tell, or try to get away, she would he hid 
away where no one could find her! He 
told her he had planned this and it would 
be done. All these years she had prayed 
and tried to get brave enough to face her 
fate — to try to escape, but the faces of 
her little ones had caused her to bear this 
awful fate thus long, all these long years 

51 


My Little Arhutus Flower 

upon years! She said he would often take 
her by the hair of her head and drag her 
about the floor if she attempted to refuse 
to obey him. This morning she had said: 

“I hate you! Oh, how I hate you! I 
will go away! I will not bear it any 
longer!” lie had wrenched her wrist and 
held a loaded revolver at her throat, say- 
ing: 

“You do tliat, if you dare, but remem- 
ber what will happen to you if you try 
that!” 

It turned me sick. Oh, how I did ])ity 
that poor woman. I tliought the author- 
ities ought to know this and take care of 
liim, and said so. 

“I can’t prove it,” she said. “What 
could we do?” I only know of one thing 
to do — only one place to go. We must 
f ully know tliat only Ood could help her. 


In Full Bloom 


I would go home and pray for her, and 
slie must know her release would come. 

I visited that desolate home often. The 
father came home less and less. 

The little mother had to carry all her 
large washings three blocks away, where 
she could get water, fuel, soap and all the 
necessary things to do with, in return for 
doing the other woman’s washing, on the 
same day, doing the former in the fore- 
noon and her own large ones in the after- 
noon. The materials for doing her own 
washing and the privilege of hanging her 
clothes on the lady’s line was all the pay 
she received for her work. 

She could not carry water except for 
drinking purposes and cooking. The three 
( f ather and two sons — pardon me, I could 
not call them men) , would not do so. This 
accounts partly for the filth, but not 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


wholly, and now, without my telling you, 
you must liave surmised the mystery of 
the unpatched and soiled garments. It 
takes energy to put patclies on clean gar- 
ments ; much more on filthy ones. It takes 
energy and life to patch for and keep 
bright a happy home — much more such a 
one; and this poor woman had lost nearly 
every particle of. that 2)recious gift of 
heaven. 


She could weave the sunshine of her 
lieart into beautiful flowers on the white 
linen. Thus she expressed a hint of that 
inl)orn nature 'svhich helped disclose a se- 
cret to me — the sorrows of a life. The 
imprisoned bird had fought long and bit- 
terly against its fate, beating its wings 
remorselessly against the sides of its wire 
cage. Would she soon be released? We 
shall see. 


54 


In Full Bloonv 


Finally women began to go there for 
fancy-work, and not long afterwards the 
little black thing called a house was des- 
olate and forsaken for a house — a home 
away out in the light, up on a high hill, 
in the most beautiful part of the city, as 
f ar as natural scenery is concerned. Thus 
away up the mountain, in a good neigh- 
borhood, among the wonderful pine trees, 
all decorated with their green dresses, our 
dear friends found a home! 

Nothing was taken from that other 

« 

wretched place, not a thing. A clean rug 
carpet adorned the living room floor, and 
nice, fresh matting the others. Some clean 
willow chairs were scattered about, while 
there was pure spring water to be had, in 
great abundance. Here in this wholesome 
home the daughter grew strong, doing all 
tlie housework so her motlier could work 


55 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


with her needle. She also went to school. 
Work came to the mother, more rapidly 
than she could do it, and the money was 
paid freely, thus enabling them to buy and 
pay f or the home, in monthly payments. 

You ask what became of the man we call 
father, and the boys? This is the strange 
part of the story. No one ever knew. The 
mother just overcame her fear of him and 
when again he threatened to shoot her, 
holding a revolver to her throat, she stood 
perfectly still and said: 

‘‘Shoot!” 

She said she was not in the least afraid; 
only pity filled her heart. 

She told him twice to “shoot,” and he 
turned and fled. She never saw him again. 
Neither did she ever see the two boys again, 
who were like their father. Three on the 
dark side — the side of hell; three on the 
light side — the side of heaven! 

56 


In Full Bloom 


Hasten to thy hr other's rescue; fear not 
any teller e to go. 

Life is earnest; there's a duty that you 
must not fail to do. 

Now the blossom that did nestle in the 
weeds that dismal day 

Can expand and he a leader to the realm 
of perfect day! 

Fear not, then, to help) the fallen; God is 
with you all the way. 

He it is who sends you onward; He has 
taught you how to pray. 

Proverbs 13 , 10 

"'IVie name of the Tjord is a strong tower: 

The righteous runneth into it and is safe!" 


57 



OUR DEAR FRIENDS FOUND A HOME 


WHEN BERNICE FOUND HER 
PROPER NICHE 

(Conclusion) 

After reading the story through, Ber- 
nice waited breathlessly for her mother’s 
approval or disapproval. Mrs. Blair laid 
one hand on the head of wavy, blonde hair 
and gently said: 

“Dearie, the story to me is beautiful; 
both because my daughter wrote it and 
because I hear therein the accents of her 
father, who so shortly ago went to his long 
home, as well as because I knew tlie beau- 
tiful ‘Arbutus Flower’ and his mother, and 
your loving interest in them, but I am as 
anxious for you not to be disappointed in 
the 2^rize as you are; and to have you at 
liome, and since we seem to see a j^ossible 
chance, it seems to be a picture of comfort 
not to be lost. T am wondering if the story 

59 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


of that western scenery and your artistic 
friend would not interest these good ed- 
itors, too. Some day you could give them 
that.’' 

“Well, mother, I will prepare this one 
and try that one next. Tomorrow I will 
get it ready at home, try to rewrite it care- 
fully; and then I’ll ask my employer, if 
I may, at odd moments, make a typewrit- 
ten copy, so as to send it in in proper shape. 
They must be typewritten, you know.” 

The next evening Bernice asked her 
mother to excuse her and she retired to 
her room. Twelve o’clock found the copy 
of her story carefully rewritten, plainly, 
in long-hand. The following day, by 
working an hour overtime, she managed 
to bring home a neat type-written copy, 
ready for the publishers. She mailed it, 
enclosing sufficient postage for its return, 

CO 


When Bernice Found Her Proper Niche 


should it not please, and then she and her 
dear mother waited happily, expectantly, 
with a vision of a peaceful, bright future 
before them. 

Two weeks went by — three, four. Then 
one morning when Bernice was too ill to 
go to the office work, whicli was the case 
often for the last few months, a letter 
came. Her mother brought it to her as 
she sat bolstered up in the reclining chair, 
so pale, and somewhat worried looking, 
and with her hair falling loosely about her 
shoulders, reaching nearly to the floor. 
Her large blue eyes were radiant with a 
great ho23e; her heart began to throb rap- 
idly, and the hectic flush deepened in her 
cheeks. She said: “Open it, mother,” for 
she guessed what it was. 

The mother, with trembling Angers and 
a prayer on her lips, tore open the envelope, 

61 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


unfolding its contents, and giving one lit- 
tle scream of joy, laid it in her daughter’s 
lap. Bernice only had to glance at it to 
behold a bank draft for a goodly sum. 

“Oh, mother!” cried Bernice, and they 
were folded in each other’s arms. 

“Now, daughter, rest. Now we know 
tliat you will recover your health. We will 
stay quietly at home together, just visiting 
the parks sometimes, and I will embroider, 
wliile you may write, and we will do our 
work together. OIi, how thankful I am to 
those dear editors, and we will send some 
more beautiful stories. We will write the 
stories of our lives for them, too, and that 
will he pleasing to them, wlien they find 
that they, perliaps, Iiave been tlie means of 
saving your dear life and enabling us to 
make an honest living, besides giving us 

tlie pleasure of expressing our real selves 

62 


When Bernice Found Tier Proper Niche 


in the true and good, and helping others. 
Think how many poor girls and men and 
women can do the same, for so much talent 
is really unexpressed, and people need the 
interesting and uplifting stories. Let us 
retire, now, with thankful hearts, and 
awake in a new world of beauty, peace 
and light, far from want and the croAvded 
city.” 


G3 


My Little Arbutus Flower 


Peace, the fruit of conquered sin. 

Opens the heavenly gates. Within 

W e find the life of love 

Which blessing comes from God above. 

— Harriet Beecher Benbow. 


y INIS 


64 








